


Never Said I'm A Saint

by taeminnied



Category: SHINee, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Alcohol, Assassins & Hitmen, Drugs, M/M, Multi, ill add more tags as i go i think yeah, uhHHHH i mean this is basically gonna involve a whole lot of blood and drugs and sex n stuff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-06
Updated: 2018-05-06
Packaged: 2019-05-02 19:23:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14551707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taeminnied/pseuds/taeminnied
Summary: it smelled of bleach and weed





	Never Said I'm A Saint

**Author's Note:**

> hey hi hello ok so i'm back thanks to some encouragement from a mutual and an anon on twitter and also cause it's been way too long since i've touched this fic hjsdgjkdg oops. so sorry for the wait if there was anyone looking forward to this fic, but i'm finally done with this semester of uni and i'll have the whole summer to write and complete this fic yay!!! this is the official rewrite of the original fic i posted that i said i'd be doing, but i actually decided it'd be easier to just post it as a new work entirely than try to go through and edit the original. sO i'll just be renaming the original and adding a link to this fic so that i can hopefully avoid any confusion. anyways yeah ok here we go it's still a pretty short chapter but i hope it isn't shitty!!!!  
> (also much thanks again to my beta n the loml thighdxddy for giving me this jimtae thirst)  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/9624740 < link for the original work if you wanna check it out idk

The apartment smelled of bleach and weed. More specifically, the bathroom did, where a man’s long limbs were stretched out in a clawfoot tub filled to the brim with too-hot water. One of his hands was flung limply over the edge of the porcelain, bouncing to the phantom notes of a Chopin nocturne he had long since forgotten the name of, while the other guided a half-finished joint between his lips. Every exhale sent a trail of smoke up towards the ceiling, past the bluish bags beneath his eyes and the purple toner in his hair. He felt peacefully boneless in the hazy warmth, and was content to let the sensations will away the exhaustion that had overtaken his body. 

 

Sinking further into the water, the man let his tired eyes droop shut as he tilted his head back against the rim of the tub. The cannabis had already begun to mellow out his mood, pushing the corners of his full mouth up into a latent grin. It wouldn’t hurt to take a short nap, he figured, just as long as he didn’t fall so deeply that the timer for his hair couldn’t wake him.

 

As soon as he made the executive decision to do just that, an obnoxiously loud pop song broke through the tranquil atmosphere of the bathroom. Of course someone was calling him now. He groaned up at the ceiling, letting out a long plume of smoke towards the smooth plaster. That unsavory ringtone was reserved for one particularly fitting person, a person he did not dare ignore. Pulling in another drag from the joint, he reached over the tub to the stool where his phone had been sitting and reluctantly accepted the call. 

 

“Yeah, Kibummie?” 

 

“Hey Taem, I’m assuming you’re finally done getting rid of that Kim guy, because Byun and his insufferable assistant just came by to personally drop off the fattest fucking envelope I think you’ve ever received. Honestly, he must have given you enough to buy at least a hundred of those Cartier bracelets Jonghyunnie has been asking me for; neither of us can believe it.” 

 

The younger chuckled lowly, “What, you still haven’t gotten him one yet? He told me his plan of persuasion and it seemed pretty convincing.”

 

“For you, maybe. But I cannot be swayed by one exceptional lap dance. He’ll have to give me a few more before I’ll even consider caving, especially now that I’m trying not to give in to his begging every time he wants something. Besides, I just bought him that Lamborghini, which I assumed would satiate his little lust for luxury for awhile. I was obviously wrong.” 

 

Taemin laughed at that, shifting around in the tub to sit up. “Jonghyun is a spoiled brat.” 

 

“Hey now,” Kibum scoffed, “you’re no better, offering to suck him off if he convinced me to add swarovski details to your Ducati. That was weak, Minnie, we all know how much you like having your mouth full.” Taemin could hear the smirk in his voice, and bit back the irritated whine building on his tongue. 

 

“Anyway, before you start whining pathetically,” Kibum knew him too well, “I called to tell you I expect to see you at Indigo as soon as possible.” Taemin rolled his eyes. Indigo was one of the several incredibly successful high-roller clubs that Kibum owned in the city, and their most frequented meeting spot to talk deals and show off. “You need your money and I need details, plus, Hyunnie missed you while you were away. He’s on a smoke break out back or else he’d be the one talking to you right now.” 

 

Taemin hummed in faux contemplation before responding, “I suppose I can come. Did Minho supply us with anything new tonight? I’m about to finish off the last of my stash and I need a little something extra.” 

 

“Yeah, he did, thank fuck. The munchkin and I were running low too. Now hurry on over, you’ll have to take your bike because I sent Jinki with the car to -” Taemin stood up out of the water and ended the call before the elder could finish his sentence, throwing it down to the towels on the floor. Kibum talked too much. 

 

He continued smoking lazily while the water drained from the tub, putting the joint out against the porcelain when the flame came too close to his fingertips. Once he got the shower head on, he stepped back under the cold stream to rinse the product out of his newly whitened hair. Kibum was in for a surprise; he hated when Taemin got impatient and did things himself. He stared down at the suds beneath his feet, watching as they collected around his toes and the lip of the drain stopper. All evidence of his previous full auburn bangs, shy smiles, and innocent brown eyes trickled down into the pipes below, just as the acid-bath-riddled remains of his target had just four days before. Taemin didn't really mind killing people, as by now, it was more habit than anything. The act had become clinical and fascinating, especially when clients gave him specific instructions on how to take care of the targets. Once the hunt was over, though, Taemin never failed to drown helplessly in a dark abyss of guilt and self-loathing for the monster he felt he had become. Instead of dealing with these feelings, he resorted to shedding the skins of his former selves after every job. New hair, new drugs, new scars, new Taemin. Everything on the inside always remained the same, but if the face he saw in the mirror was different than the one who had last taken a life, it was easier to pretend otherwise. 

 

Shutting off the water, Taemin reluctantly stepped back out of the tub. Kibum was expecting him soon, and when Kibum wanted something, he got it, no questions asked. Although Taemin knew that he had more time than his boss let on, he didn't want to dawdle and risk Kibum pocketing some of the prize cash in spite. He slung a towel around his hips and stumbled into the connected walk-in closet to search for something worthy of the lavishness that defined Indigo, grimacing childishly at the scattered garments that were mostly gifted to him by Kibum and the men he did jobs for. Taemin hated dressing up in them. The fabric of the gifts felt wrong on his skin, like physical trophies and evidence of the blood on his hands he tried so desperately to forget. He much preferred his own tattered tees and slashed denim, with the occasional mesh and fur thrown in if he was feeling especially ostentatious. 

 

“Fuck it,” Taemin muttered under his breath. He deserved to be comfortable tonight, and Kibum couldn’t say shit if his earnings really were that large. Throwing caution to the wind in favor of his newly bleached strands and cheap black cotton and denim, Taemin shrugged on his favorite leather jacket and messily lined his eyes with kohl before slamming his apartment door shut. 

 

///

 

The walk down to the club was brief, as Kibum thought that buying Taemin an apartment within five minutes of the place was of utmost necessity. The bouncer let him in without a word, much to the chagrin of the long queue of people behind the velvety blue rope. Indigo was popular and exorbitant, which made it the most sought out playground in the city for the filthy rich. Kibum made sure, though, that all of his clubs were decadently intimate. Most of the people desperately waiting outside would never even have a chance of entering unless they accumulated exquisite connections or made habit of high-paying illicit activities, but that would never happen. Commoners were no good at crime, that much Taemin knew for sure. 

 

Once inside, Taemin slunk through the neon-lit entrance hall, breathing in the heavy thrum of the music’s bass like it was something tangible. The main section of the club was spacious and lofty, with over two more floors of balconied space overlooking the central dancefloor. The edges of the place housed plush couches and booths in decadent white leather, all tucked away from the smoky lights of the middle areas and shrouded in darkness. Taemin liked those places best, where he could corner his prey and take whatever he wanted. Kibum, however, who preferred sitting in the public eye, was perched on a swiveling leather stool at the bar, knocking back a B-52 and scanning the crowd lazily. It didn’t take him too long to spot Taemin, though, and as soon as he did, his eyes grew wide in ire. 

 

“Hey, Boss, tell Minho to fix up some more of those,” he drawled, hopping onto the seat next to Kibum and plastering on his best pout. “I haven’t had any alcohol in my system since my last job and I’m dying.” Minho gave him a small smile and got to work pouring coffee liqueur into the bottoms of four new shot glasses.

 

“Taemin, what the fuck did you do to your hair?” Shit. “Is that why it took you so long to get here?” Kibum grabbed his shoulders and looked him over in panic. “Idiot, I told you to wait until I could get you in at the salon! What the hell, babe?” Now Kibum was the one pouting, and all Taemin could do was smile at his antics. 

 

He shook himself out of Kibum’s grip and lifted one of the fresh shots lain out by Minho to his mouth. “Leave me alone, I got impatient when you left me hanging.” Taemin ran a hand through his rough locks and downed the layered concoction. “It doesn’t even look bad.” 

 

“Yeah Kibum, Taem did a good job this time,” Minho chuckled from behind the counter. 

 

Kibum glared at both of them in vexation, but obviously couldn’t deny that fact. “Fine. I’ll let it go since you did so well offing Byun’s hit,” he praised, but not without another disapproving glance at Taemin’s hair, and then his outfit. With a huff, Kibum pulled a fat white envelope from the confines of his silken shirt and presented it to Taemin. He whistled to himself as he slit open the top with his nail; Byun had tipped him quite generously this time around. Kibum’s naturally composed expression turned smug, and he clapped his hands together in obvious excitement. 

 

“Damn, Bum, who exactly was that guy I snuffed? I’ve never gotten this much before,” Taemin mused, not even bothering to count the enormous stack of fifty thousand won notes in the envelope once he read the number on the envelope. “One fucking billion won? Fuck, the bastard didn’t seem that important while I was tracking him.” Minho gaped at his remark, nearly dropping the tumbler he was drying off as his brows disappeared under his dark bangs. 

 

“I mean, I know he was in charge of some big trafficking ring and shit, but it wasn’t like he was heavily guarded like a fucking gang leader or anything. I would know, I killed the guy, and it really wasn’t too hard.” Taemin chewed on his thumbnail, scrunching his nose when a bit of chipped polish landed on his tongue. 

 

Kibum hummed, “Maybe Byun’s still trying to woo you, you know he’s always wanted a piece of your sweet ass. Little does he know that the way to our Minnie’s heart has absolutely nothing to do with the size of his wallet, but rather the size of his -” Taemin sneered, slamming his shot glass back onto the counter to cut off the vulgar end of Kibum’s remark. He waited for Minho to reprimand the elder, but he was too busy disguising an amused grin behind his towel to offer Taemin any help. 

 

Taemin snatched the thick envelope of Kibum’s clutches and stood, passing it to the bartender to store in their personal safe until he was ready to leave. He wanted to dance, and there was no way he was going to risk some dirty-handed body in the crowd taking it off his person when he wasn’t paying attention. 

 

“Is Jonghyun still smoking outside? I wanna dance; you know he’s my favorite partner,” Taemin asked through petulantly bitten lips. Kibum squinted into the crowd, searching for his boyfriend’s soft pink head of hair. 

 

“Hm, I don’t see him. He came back in a few minutes before you got here to get my lighter, because apparently it works better than his.” Kibum offered with a fond eye roll, “He should be back outside by now, but I’m suddenly in the mood to watch you two get handsy in the crowd.” Taemin scoffed and leaned against the counter as Kibum announced his mission to retrieve his boyfriend, not even having to shove through the throngs of people once they parted for him like the Red Sea. Patrons were so nervous around Kibum, like he was some sort of expensive work of art that they were only allowed to admire from afar. He was well known in the wealthy community of the city, if not for his exquisite clubs, then for how untouchable he was thanks to his old money and friendly connections with the police force. It probably didn’t help that Kibum rarely left his penthouse, thus making a huge scene whenever he felt the need to show himself in public. The clubs were always especially packed on nights that the owner was there, as everyone wanted to get the chance to get close to him. Like that would ever happen, though. He was too private a person, and didn’t feel safe widening his circle of intimate relations. Taemin thought he probably revelled in his shady reputation; Kibum loved the idea of draping himself in a mysterious facade. 

 

“They make me want to vomit sometimes,” Minho muttered, shaking Taemin from his thoughts. Kibum and Jonghyun were disgustingly affectionate, always cooing over each other and paying no mind to the public eye when it came to where they rested their hands. Taemin never understood how Jonghyun had managed to melt Kibum’s ice, but he supposed that it was good for him to not constantly have a work-induced stick up his ass. Jonghyun relaxed him to no end, which made life easier for everyone involved in Kibum’s business. 

 

“God, I know,” he replied, splaying his torso over the marble counter of the bar. He propped his chin in his hand, all desire to go to the floor diminished once Minho slid him a White Russian. He and Kibum had a penchant for Kahlúa, obviously, and Minho was well aware of the fact. “I’m just waitin’ for them to get arrested for PDA one of these days,” he grumbled while thumbing the rim of his glass. “I bet Bummie just wanted to go find him so he could get his daily public ass grope in, fuckin’ exhibitionists.” 

 

Minho laughed at that, rustling Taemin’s bleached strands further into chaos, “Don’t let Kibum hear you talking like that, you know he’d beat your ass in a heartbeat.” There was no real threat behind Minho’s words, though, because they both knew that Kibum was one hundred percent whipped for Taemin. The man treated him like a twisted Prince of his empire; Taemin’s gruesome career never detracting from his position in the ranks, no matter how high the body count got. The only person with a greater importance to Kibum than himself was the Queen: Jonghyun. Minho was perhaps a rank lower than Taemin, but there they all sat at the very top of Kibum’s tower of wealth. And like a family of cards in poker, they always showed the winning suit. 

 

///

 

Taemin was getting bored. Once the prolonged lull in business had ended, Minho had been forced to leave him to his own devices in order to tend to the paying customers. He scoffed. Money was nothing compared to the value of time spent with Taemin, so Minho was severely missing out. Despite the shots and the White Russian he had downed, his cursed high tolerance had him barely feeling the effects of the alcohol. Even the mellow high from his earlier joint had died down, leaving him itching for some sort of sensation to take over his body again. 

 

“Hey, Minho,” he rapped his knuckles against the countertop to get his friend’s attention. Minho turned his gaze in acknowledgment, raising a brow in question. “If Bum and Jjong ever come back from their disgusting romp outside, tell them I’m abandoning the usual bowl session tonight. I’m in the mood for a different kind of poison.” Taemin wiggled his eyebrows obnoxiously, snickering at the scrunch of Minho’s nose. 

 

“What, sucking off your latest kill wasn’t fulfilling enough? You’re insatiable, Taem,” Minho commented sarcastically. 

 

“Unbelievable, you think I only blew him? We had much more fun than that,” he quipped. “This guy was actually young and hot, for a change. I’ve gotten so tired of playing the seduction game with wrinkly old men and beer-bellied cheating husbands; I wouldn’t mind my job nearly as much if all my targets were as sexy as that guy.”

 

Minho guffawed, taking Taemin’s empty glasses to the sink behind the bar. Taemin’s eyes crinkled in amusement; he had missed this easy banter while he was away on the job. He didn’t have to play a part while he was with his friends, and it was just so comfortable. Working often had messed with his sense of identity, but returning to the club calmed his conflictions like a soothing balm. 

 

“You’re insane,” Minho laughed, “But really, if you weren’t being a little shit right now I’d probably be worried. You were gone for a long time; Jonghyun was a mess ‘cause Bum wouldn’t tell him where you were.” 

 

Taemin shrugged, picking at a loose thread in his shirt. He had been away for longer than usual. This job had been messier, and consequently, riskier. It was still easy, but the guy had fought back, leaving Taemin’s lithe body more bruised and beaten than usual. Minho didn’t need to know that, though. Taemin didn’t like worrying his friends more than he naturally did. 

 

“Ok, I really am going out to dance this time,” he announced. Minho gave him a pointed glare, but let Taemin’s avoidance of the topic of his prolonged absence slide. The younger gave Minho a wave and turned towards the floor, thin hips already swaying tantalizingly to the pounding bass. Before he could get too far out of earshot, though, Minho cautioned him. 

 

“Don’t seduce anyone too hard, Taem, you know the rules.” 

 

Taemin threw an annoyed scowl over his shoulder before shouldering his way further into the crowd. He used to have rules, before Kibum realized that dealing with a sexually frustrated Taemin was not worth the extra layer of protective padding that non-job-related abstinence provided him. It was plain and simple: Taemin was a fiend, an uncontrollable slave to lust. He often joined Kibum and Jonghyun in their fun, but the lack of variety always had him itching for more. He was careful, anyways, and made sure to pick his victims wisely. Never too wealthy, never too loud, never too sober; this was Taemin’s ideal type of anonymous hookup. The latter was especially important, because drunk people usually forgot about their trysts before any sort of emotional attachment could be formed. Like Kibum always said, any encounter that was more than fleeting posed a potential threat to Taemin’s operations, and they couldn’t have that. Taemin was too pretty for prison. 

 

///

 

He soon found himself in the epicenter of the pulsing room, hips undulating against a sweaty body behind him. From the short glimpse Taemin had gotten of the taller man before hot hands had slid down his thigh and up his neck, he could tell that the guy was the exact sort of alcohol-ridden hookup he was looking for. Warm whiskey breath clouded Taemin’s senses, and he allowed the stranger to flip him in his hold and slot a thigh between his legs. 

 

Fifteen minutes of slow grinding later, and Taemin’s bare knees were sliding on the damp tile in an unoccupied bathroom. His fingers ached in their hold on the side of the toilet, white waves brushing the seat while the scent of stale pipe water flooded his nose. Taemin almost laughed to himself. He had been in this position too many times before, just not with fingers in his ass and a hand yanking on his hair. His inner thoughts were cut short by one sharp crook of a finger against his walls, and he sunk back harder on the man’s hand with a low groan. 

 

“Fuck, so damn tight, you a virgin?,” the stranger panted against his neck. Taemin suppressed another laugh, ignoring the question, and let his breath out as a harsh gasp when the other quickened his pace. He tilted his head back against the stranger’s shoulder, eyes glazing over and lips parting wetly as he whispered out quiet pleas for more. Before his wish could be granted, though, Taemin felt more than heard the metallic clanging of the bathroom door hitting the tiled wall. 

 

“Shit.” 

 

The man behind him halted his ministrations, and Taemin tried to look over his shoulder at the intruders. Before he could register what was happening, he felt a sudden absence of warmth and fullness in his hole, and faintly heard the slurred protests of his partner as he was dragged off of him. Who the fuck had the nerve to cock-block him, he was still hard for fuc-

 

“Over a toilet, babe, really? No fucking class; I expected more from you after all this time.” A scoff. Kibum’s angry scoff, to be precise. An exasperated grumble left his throat when he realized who had interrupted his pleasure. Cold hands yanked Taemin’s palms away from the toilet bowl while even colder ones heaved the tight denim back up his legs and around his hips. 

 

“Bummie,” Taemin grouched, “I thought I told Minho to inform you that I wouldn’t be joining you tonight, and yet here you are, ruining all my fu-.” His words were cut short when he finally made eye contact with the fuming man, Kibum’s glare dripping with poison as he jerked Taemin up on his feet. Kibum sighed heavily through his nose. 

“Taemin. Don't push me right now.” 

 

Taemin nodded, his frustration ebbing away and his - issue - going down immediately once he noticed how truly tense his friends were. The air felt off, and Jonghyun was worrying his lip in the way he did when he felt anxious about something. The shorter male grabbed for Taemin’s hand with his sweater paw, tugging him towards the door. It wasn’t until then that Taemin noticed the deep tremors shaking Jonghyun’s body. What was going on?

 

“Please, Minnie, he’s really mad and we gotta go. Not mad at you! Just, we’ll tell you in the car,” Jonghyun’s softer voice added when Taemin nervously frowned down at him. Kibum took the lead once they made their way back into the club, stiffly shoving his way through the throngs of drunken patrons. He had since pulled Jonghyun away from Taemin’s grasp, tucking him protectively under his arm. Although this wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, Kibum’s rigid body language was making him apprehensive. He was holding Jonghyun less gently than usual, and was mentally slicing the heads off of everyone who even looked twice at the pair. Taemin had not seen him this enraged in a long time. 

 

///

 

The three of them were pressed against each other in the backseat of Kibum’s Mercedes AMG S 63, which honestly wasn’t meant to carry three full grown men in its rear section. Jonghyun was sandwiched in between his boyfriend and Taemin, obviously too shaken to allow one of them to sit more comfortably in the passenger seat next to their driver, Jinki. After Kibum had led them out back to the car, they had been roughly pushed in. Other than Jinki’s cautious “Hello,” nobody had spoken a word. 

 

“So, uh, will one of you please tell me what’s going on?” Taemin’s question broke the tangible silence in the vehicle, reducing Jonghyun into a trembling mess once again. Jonghyun looked up to the right at his boyfriend, pouting in a way that said you talk, please. Kibum pinched the bridge of his nose with one hand and ran soothing fingers through Jonghyun’s soft pink locks with the other. 

 

“Well, in short, one of my old colleagues just crawled his unnecessary ass over to our side of town and decided that it would be a grand idea to lay his grimy hands on my baby,” Kibum growled crossly. Taemin’s eyes widened, immediately understanding why Jonghyun seemed so shaken. 

 

“Hyunnie, oh shit, are you ok? Did he hurt you?” Taemin exclaimed, shifting in his seat to flit his now quivering hands over Jonghyun. He meekly shrugged his shoulders in reply, glittery sleeves bunching around the twisting fingers in his lap. Kibum caught their jerky movements out the corner of his eye and threw his hands up in frustration. 

 

“Damn it Jinki, do you have anything on you? Jjong and Taem are both shaking like fucking leaves.” Nervous ticks always irked him to no end, and Jonghyun and Taemin were notorious for their anxiety-induced quaking. Taemin opened his mouth to protest, but Kibum quickly shot him a stifling glare that shut him up. He huffed anyways, well aware of the fact that Jinki only ever had cigarettes, and nicotine was not Taemin’s friend. He much preferred his beloved marijuana, so Kibum would just have to deal with it.

 

“Doesn’t Jonghyun usually carry around a pack or two?” The eldest wondered from behind the wheel. Jinki rummaged through the glove box in search of his extras anyways, rolling down the windows in preparation. 

 

“Well he usually does, but he dropped his Insignias when Kim tried forcing one from him earlier,” Kibum bitterly replied. “I was too furious to remember to pick them up before we went back inside.” 

 

“Damn,” Jinki whistled, “well I don’t have any Insignias, but will Camels do?” Jonghyun made eager grabby hands towards the cardboard box, and Kibum was already wrestling the glossy pink lighter out of the wiggling boy’s back pocket. Taemin shuddered in disgust, shaking his head vigorously when Jonghyun held one up to him with a raised brow. The older giggled in response and turned back to his lover, propping the stick between Kibum’s parted lips. 

 

“Are we going back to yours, Bum? You better have Minho run over with whatever he got for us. I don’t fuck with those cancer sticks anymore and I need something to take the edge off,” Taemin quipped haughtily. Kibum just nodded a silent yes before blowing a skilled ring of smoke against Jonghyun’s pretty pout. He watched on as the couple became momentarily oblivious to the world, trading whispered words of affection and surprisingly chaste kisses. Both had visibly calmed down under the slow burning glow of the cigarette, and it seemed to Taemin that Kibum was in the right mind to make up for his earlier harsh attitude to his boyfriend. Ugh, shameless lovers. Taemin leaned his head against the open windowsill, curling himself away from the two increasingly preoccupied bodies to his right. 

 

“Hey Kibum, who was the asshole, anyways? You only gave a family name,” Jinki pondered as he turned down Kibum’s pristine street. Jonghyun tugged Kibum’s head out of the crook of his neck, and frowned in assent. 

 

“Yeah, Da—” Jonghyun slapped a hand against his mouth, a shocked blush rising in his cheeks. “I mean, yeah, who was he, Bummie?” Taemin rolled his eyes; Jonghyun always got so embarrassed when he let his special nickname for his boyfriend slip. “Daddy” hadn’t seemed to notice his boy’s stuttering, though, but Taemin ruffled Jonghyun’s hair to make up for the teasing he surely would have endured if Kibum had. 

 

“His name is Kim Namjoon; we went to business school together,” Kibum shortly supplied as they pulled into the garage under his apartment complex. “He went off the deep end after graduation, though, and now I’m pretty sure he leads some shitty gang on the other side of the city.” 

 

“What was he doing outside Indigo, then?” Jonghyun asked while Jinki carefully slid the Mercedes into its designated parking space. 

 

“I haven’t got a clue; Minho promised he’d look into it, though. Either way, he’s going to pay for what he did to you tonight, babydoll.” 

 

“Bummie, it’s alright, he didn’t hurt me or anything. You don’t have to get him killed for me.” The last part was whispered, but Taemin heard it and froze. Surely Kibum didn’t want Namjoon dead. His boss-turned-friend had not had him personally kill anyone for years, only lending him out to do the dirty work for random associates. Kibum opened the car door, chuckling darkly at Jonghyun’s fussing. 

 

“We’ll see, sweetheart.”


End file.
